The Quinjet sliced through the gray British skies like a glam-rock band crashing a knitting circle. Outside, the clouds had achieved peak British: sullen, overcast, and giving off the same energy as a disapproving grandmother at a tattoo convention.
"Welcome home," Lily announced from the cockpit with a grin that could cut glass. She flipped a few enchanted toggles, causing the map in front of her to zoom in on southern England like a wizarding version of Google Earth—if Google Earth judged you silently while displaying ley lines.
"British airspace is clear," she added. "Dartmoor in ten."
Natasha Romanoff—who could make a ballistic missile blush—stretched like a cat that had just eaten a canary, her black tactical shirt riding up just enough to make three of Harry's girlfriends visibly distracted.
"Still think we should've flown in over the Irish coastline," she said. "More dramatic clouds. Better lighting for dramatic landings. And I had an entrance planned."
"That entrance included a barrel roll and a backflip," Ted muttered from behind her, peering at a clipboard with actual runes etched into it. "And possibly violating six international magical airspace treaties."
"Pfft," Natasha scoffed. "That was one time."
"Twice," Lily said without looking.
"Three times if you count that thing over Reykjavík," James Potter added, eyes still glued to International Quidditch Monthly. He turned a page with the casual air of a man who had absolutely memorized the centerfold stats and was only pretending to read.
Natasha shot him a wink. "Still mad my last landing made the clouds blush?"
"Those clouds were blinking," Harry said dryly from his seat, arms crossed over his frankly illegal biceps. "Pretty sure they were trying to SOS the Ministry."
"Magic turbulence," Lily muttered.
"Don't say it," she added quickly, pointing at Sirius without even turning.
"I wasn't going to say anything about magical gas," Sirius replied, looking extremely guilty and holding a bottle labeled "Butterbeer" in the same way a toddler might hold a permanent marker near a white couch. "I'm offended. Wounded. Betrayed."
"You're suspiciously sober," Jean Grey observed, sliding in beside Harry and draping an arm around his shoulders. Her hand conveniently settled on the top ridge of his pecs, purely for balance. "That means you're planning something."
"Excuse you," Sirius said with theatrical outrage, gesturing broadly like he was accepting a Tony Award. "I am a picture of responsibility."
"You once tried to ride a Hippogriff into a wedding reception," Tonks chimed in from the back, mouth full of cupcake. She leaned into the cockpit, pink hair already changing shades to match the Quidditch flag she'd stolen. "You wore nothing but socks and a tie."
"Technically, I was the entertainment," Sirius replied smugly. "And those socks were House colors."
"Moving on," Lily said, triggering the portkey rune with a sigh. "Staging field's just outside the perimeter. Ministry-approved entry—"
"—which we're going to completely ignore in twenty minutes," Jean finished, already slipping on her jacket. It fit like sin. Harry didn't notice. At all. Probably.
"Speak for yourselves," Andromeda said primly, holding up a Ministry Observer badge that shimmered with the smug glow of someone who paid taxes on time and knew how to parallel park. "Some of us like not being arrested at public events."
"Where's the fun in that?" Rose asked cheerfully, breezing in with her satchel and a giant lollipop like she'd just come from a candy-coated battlefield. "Also, dibs on flirting with the Irish drummers."
"Only if I get to heckle Krum," James called without looking up.
"Only if I get to heckle Krum while seductively eating a hot dog," Tonks added, balancing said hot dog on top of her cupcake like it was a performance art piece.
Harry stood with a groan and a stretch that made everyone look up. He wasn't showing off. That's just what happened when you were six-foot-something of lean muscle, Gryffindor swagger, and the general aura of someone who bench-pressed trauma and made it look sexy.
"Let's try not to start an international incident before the first goal," he said, adjusting his leather jacket—which somehow made him look even more like a Marvel poster that had wandered into a magic convention.
"Define 'incident,'" Sirius asked, grinning.
Before anyone could respond, the Quinjet shimmered with a cloaking spell, and the magical viewports flared gold. Below them, the fog parted like a stage curtain.
And Dartmoor did not disappoint.
Colorful magical tents sprawled across the moorlands like a wizarding Coachella on a mana overdose. Bulgarian red and Irish green flags waved in every direction, along with banners featuring slogans like "KRUM 4 LIFE" and "CATCH MY SNITCH, LYNCH."
The chaos was practically vibrating.
"Oh Merlin," Harry muttered with a grin. "It's just as insane as I remember."
"And we haven't even landed yet," Lily warned, pressing her hand to the activation rune.
"Portkey in three… two… one—"
WHOOSH.
Being yanked by a portkey was like getting sucker punched by a teleporting elephant. There was light. Wind. Screaming. Mostly Sirius. And then—
—they landed.
Into. Utter. Chaos.
A goat—a goat, wearing an Irish scarf and chewing what looked like a security badge—stared at them and bleated with judgment.
A child wearing nothing but fairy wings and a Krum mask ran past holding a sparkler in one hand and a frog in the other.
A wizard nearby was selling bootleg Firewhisky out of a teapot that belched smoke shaped like shamrocks and poor life choices.
"Oh, yes," Sirius said, arms wide like a returning war hero. "This. This right here. My people."
"Are we sure this is legal?" Jean asked, one eyebrow arched as she leaned into Harry. Her fingers traced lazy circles along the seam of his jacket. Totally innocent. Possibly.
"Nothing about this looks legal," Ororo added from the other side, eyes gleaming with thundercloud amusement. She offered Harry a conspiratorial smile that could have made a basilisk blink first.
"Define 'legal,'" Harry said with a smirk, earning twin eye-rolls and one playful swat on the chest from Tonks, who appeared at his elbow like a chaos gremlin summoned by sarcasm.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and agents of glorious mayhem," Sirius announced, hands raised to the heavens, "we have arrived."
Rose threw a fist in the air. "Let the Quidditch chaos commence!"
Harry looked around at his team, his family, his possibly unstable entourage of beautiful women and dangerously hot troublemakers—and couldn't help the grin tugging at his lips.
This was going to be fun.
He slung an arm around Jean's waist and offered Tonks a wink that made her nearly choke on her cupcake.
"Let the games begin."
—
"Lily Potter tapped her bracelet twice—ping ping—and just like that, Stark-WizTech sorcery turned an invisible Quinjet into what could only be described as 'glamping for people who duel in Latin.' In place of the sleek aircraft now stood a massive two-story tent, complete with fluttering magical banners, hovering fairy lights, and a bunting that spelled out in glowing runes: NO MUGGLES BEYOND THIS POINT (SERIOUSLY, DON'T EVEN LOOK AT IT).
"Oh good," James muttered, hands on hips as he surveyed the transformation. "We've finally reached peak wizard extra."
"Honey," Lily replied, giving him a peck on the cheek and brushing nonexistent dust off her jeans, "we passed peak extra when Sirius tried to convince the customs Auror that his emotional support wolf needed its own broom."
"I stand by that," Sirius said from the other side of the tent where he was offering a suspicious-looking goat a Butterbeer. "Fenrir has separation anxiety."
"Fenrir is a plush toy you animated with a stolen soul fragment," Lily deadpanned.
"Don't soul-shame my son."
Lily clapped her hands and the last shimmer of cloaking tech rippled over the tent. "Alright, tent mode locked, runes rotating every ninety seconds, perimeter illusion stable. Don't touch the pink shimmer unless you want it to touch you back. Violently."
James raised a brow. "Define violently."
Lily gave him the same look she used to disarm Death Eaters and toddlers with scissors. "Define surprise surgery."
James wisely turned away from the shimmer.
"Boys," she said sweetly, which was the universal Potter signal for 'I love you but don't make me hex you,' "why don't you three go check in with the groundskeeper while the rest of us unpack? Before we become an international incident."
Sirius sighed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "death before bureaucracy," but Harry had already slung his duffel over one boulder-sized shoulder. His cloak caught the light just right to make him look like a high fantasy model for a protein powder commercial.
"I'm going," Harry said, adjusting the bag like it weighed nothing. "But if he hands me a name tag again, I'm conjuring a flaming middle finger."
"That's my boy," Sirius said proudly, clasping Harry on the shoulder.
"Oh please," Harry replied, brushing Sirius off with a grin, "you would have taught me to shoot fireballs before I could read The Very Hungry Hippogriff."
"And you would have been the only kid in playgroup with a wand holster in your onesie," James added.
The trio made their way toward the field where a harried Muggle man in a reflective vest was attempting to direct a Bulgarian wizard in parking a flying carpet that had clearly not passed emissions testing.
"That's our guy," Sirius said. "Ministry's had to Obliviate him so many times he thinks this is a Renaissance fair."
"Would explain the foam finger," James noted as the man waved a glittery "GO IRELAND" sign upside-down while yelling into a disconnected walkie-talkie.
Harry strode ahead, the crowd parting like Moses had just cast a crowd-control spell. At 6'4", with the build of a Greek statue who'd binge-watched CrossFit videos, and a face that somehow made centuries of magical chaos look good, he was hard to ignore.
"Morning," Harry said, flashing a smile that could have qualified as a minor charm in itself. "We're with the Potter delegation. Quidditch World Cup."
The man blinked. "You on the list?"
"We're always on the list," Harry said, tone calm, confident, and entirely too smug. "Check under 'internationally famous badasses.' Right after 'people too hot for paperwork.'"
The Muggle stared at him for a long moment before nodding vaguely. "Yeah, alright."
As they walked past, Sirius threw an arm over Harry's shoulder. "You're so smooth it's honestly offensive."
"Don't hate the game," Harry said. "Hate the overworked Ministry interns who let me on the list unsupervised."
James chuckled, watching as the man behind them stared into space, the Obliviate already starting to do its thing.
Back at the tent, Rose—who looked like someone had cast 'Accio Chaos' and given it red hair—was chasing the goat again.
"I told you he likes my perfume!" she called over her shoulder. "We're in love, you narrow-minded muggles!"
Ted facepalmed while Andromeda sighed, elegant even when exasperated. "I gave up intergalactic espionage for this," she murmured.
Inside the tent, Tonks and Jean were setting up enchantments while Ororo drifted lazily overhead, adjusting clouds to provide just the right dramatic lighting. Natasha, seated at a table with a cup of coffee and a stack of dossiers, didn't even look up.
"They've been gone three minutes," she said. "Place your bets. Who gets hit by something first?"
"Harry," Tonks said instantly.
"James," Jean offered.
"Technically, it's always Sirius," Ororo pointed out, floating down in a swirl of wind and white hair.
Lily just looked at them all, pressed a finger to her bracelet, and muttered, "Oh no. They're bonding again."
Outside, Harry's comm started vibrating. He flicked it open and read Lily's text: DO NOT START A FIREWORK WAR WITH THE FRENCH AGAIN.
Harry grinned. "Too late."
Behind them, a leprechaun-shaped firework launched into the sky, exploded into green flames, and rained shamrocks onto a group of horrified French witches.
"You have a problem," James said, watching the chaos unfold.
"I have style," Harry corrected.
"Also four insanely attractive girlfriends," Sirius added helpfully. "Don't forget that part."
"Oh, I don't," Harry said with a smirk. "I'm reminded every time Jean reads my thoughts during... you know."
"I really don't want to know," James muttered.
"Too late," Jean's voice chimed sweetly from his comm. "Also, Harry, stop thinking that thing about Natasha and the whipped cream spell."
Harry chuckled. "Make me."
"Later," came Natasha's low purr over the link, which made Sirius choke on his Butterbeer.
"Okay!" James said loudly. "Let's go pretend we're responsible adults!"
And with that, the Marauders Mark II strutted into the chaos of the Cup, thoroughly unqualified for subtlety, supervision, or sobriety.
Somewhere in the distance, a dragon roared.
"Fifty galleons says someone tries to bribe it into playing goalie," Harry muttered.
"You're on," Sirius grinned.
Because when the Potters go camping, they don't do boring.
They do legendary."
—
The girls had barely made it ten feet from the tent when Rose threw her arms out like she was headlining a magical Broadway production of The Wizarding World's Got Talent.
"This. Is. Bonkers," she declared, twirling dramatically. "And I love it. Somebody hand me a wand and a sparkler, I'm ready to summon the disco ball."
Tonks, rocking rainbow-dyed hair and a vintage X-Men tee tied at the waist, walked backward with the swagger of someone who knew she looked like a magical punk rock fairy. "Please. This is the Wizarding World's version of Coachella—if Coachella had talking llamas and sentient churros."
Behind them, one of said churros muttered, "Oi! I heard that!"
Ororo, graceful as an elven queen, eyed the spectacle with calm curiosity. She wore fitted jeans, boots that could stomp a Dementor, and a simple white tank under a light jacket that the weather respectfully avoided raining on. "Are enchanted confections standard issue in magical society?"
Jean, dressed like she was one slow song away from stealing your girlfriend at a rooftop bar, adjusted her aviators. "If they start singing show tunes, I'm out."
"Where are we even going?" Ororo asked, as a floating butterbeer cart zoomed past.
"To see the chaos, obviously," Rose said, hands on her hips. "I mean, this is literally a field of magical tents, flying lawn chairs, and a stand called 'Broomstick Booty Shorts.' How am I not supposed to investigate that?"
Tonks grinned. "She's not wrong."
They passed a wizard in a shamrock-colored speedo and matching top hat doing wand tricks for a crowd of goblins, a toddler flying a kite made of Pixies (don't ask), and a band of singing cauldrons harmonizing to Celestina Warbeck's You Stole My Wand and Hexed My Heart.
Jean blinked. "You people don't do anything halfway, huh?"
"Welcome to Wizard World," Tonks said with a proud grin. "Come for the magic, stay for the trauma."
—
Meanwhile, halfway across camp, Harry was watching Sirius debate the ethics of buying enchanted underpants.
"No, but hear me out," Sirius said, holding up a pair with a Firebolt stitched across the back. "They say 'Fastest Draw in the West' when you put them on."
"Absolutely not," James deadpanned, tossing a handful of sickles at a booth for socks that sang the Irish anthem. "We're in public, Pads. Please pretend you were raised by wolves, not feral pixies."
Lily rolled her eyes. "This is why I drink."
"You don't drink," James said.
"I do internally," she shot back.
Harry, who looked nothing like a fourteen-year-old and everything like the gym-sculpted lovechild of a Greek god and a dragon tamer, stood next to Natasha, watching her fiddle with a sleek pair of Omnioculars.
"These are decent," she murmured, adjusting the focus. "Zoom, replay, magical frequency lens... Not bad for magical tech."
Lily leaned over her shoulder. "You thinking of picking a pair up for the next mission?"
"I'm thinking of asking you to make me a better pair," Nat said without missing a beat. "Something that can track heat signatures, magical residue, night vision, real-time translation, and maybe detect flirty werewolves from fifty feet."
"That's oddly specific," Lily said.
"Is it?" Natasha side-eyed Harry. "He's got that effect."
Harry just smirked, arms crossed over his chest like an Avengers cover model. "What can I say? I moisturize."
Sirius pointed at him. "You're not allowed to be funny and hot, pick a lane."
"I did," Harry said. "It's called 'iconic.'"
James high-fived him. "That was savage and I respect it."
Lily groaned. "You're enabling him."
"Enabling?" Natasha drawled, twirling the Omnioculars. "I'm recruiting."
"I'm standing right here, you know," Harry said with a grin.
"Oh, we noticed," Jean said, walking up from behind and sliding an arm around his waist. "And none of us are complaining."
Ororo arrived seconds later, expression amused as her fingers brushed along Harry's other arm. "You really should warn people before looking like that in public."
Rose skipped in last, holding what looked like a real chocolate frog and a wand that may or may not have belonged to a mime. "We found a toad that sings opera. And a guy selling magically-enhanced hot pants."
Harry blinked. "That sounds... deeply cursed."
"It was," Jean confirmed.
Natasha leaned into Harry's side, voice soft but loaded. "So… later tonight, we sneak off and test out those Omniocular upgrades?"
"Just to be clear," Harry murmured, "that wasn't a euphemism?"
Natasha smirked. "It absolutely was."
"Gods, I love this world," he said with mock reverence.
"HEY!" Sirius yelled from across the booth. "I FOUND THE FLIRTING SHIRT SECTION!"
"I stand corrected," Harry deadpanned. "This world is an emotional rollercoaster."
As Sirius tried to convince a shirt that yes, he was emotionally available, Ted and Andromeda wandered into view. Ted was arguing with a sentient hat over tax policy while Andromeda looked moments away from hexing someone into next week.
"I love our family," Tonks muttered.
"No, you don't," Harry teased.
"You're right," she said. "I love you. The rest are just chaos goblins with a clothing budget."
"Speak for yourself," Rose said proudly, striking a pose. "I am the chaos."
Harry gave her a brotherly fist bump. "And don't you forget it."
"Oi!" Sirius shouted. "Someone help me seduce this shirt! It's playing hard to get!"
"I give it five minutes before he proposes," James said.
"I give it three before the shirt slaps him," Lily said.
Natasha watched the chaos unfold and slipped her fingers into Harry's hand. "So… how long before someone gets arrested?"
"Depends," Harry replied. "Are we including magical streaking as a crime?"
"Absolutely."
"Then we're on the clock."
Jean snorted, looping her other arm around Harry's shoulder. "Welcome to the weirdest family vacation in existence."
Ororo just smiled. "And I wouldn't miss it for the world."
—
They were weaving through the Quidditch World Cup campgrounds, somewhere between a butterbeer stand and a vendor selling sketchy Knockturn Alley "souvenirs" (read: cursed socks), when a voice like a bassline wrapped in velvet cut through the noise:
"Well, I'll be damned."
James Potter stopped like he'd been Petrificused mid-stride.
Sirius spun around, eyes lighting up like a teenage girl spotting a shirtless Viktor Krum. "Kingsley bloody Shacklebolt!"
There he stood—tall, regal, and calm in a way that screamed "I've stared down Dark wizards without blinking and still had time to critique their shoe choices." He wore midnight-blue robes with a sleek cut that made him look like he'd walked out of a magical spy movie. Idris Elba could've been his stunt double. Or possibly the other way around.
James pulled him into a hug, clapping his back hard enough to bruise a troll. "You look like you could still bench a Hippogriff."
"You disappeared for nine years," Kingsley said with a chuckle, "and I'm the one who looks intimidating?"
Sirius grinned like the overgrown wolf-puppy he was. "It was part of our mystique. Legend status, remember?"
Lily stepped forward with the kind of grace that suggested she could cast hexes with a hair flip. "Good to see you again, Kingsley."
He nodded with warm respect. "Evans. Or is it Potter now?"
"Evans professionally," she said. "But let's be honest, we all know I wear the trousers."
"Can confirm," James muttered. "They're spell-reinforced."
Then came the twins—Rose, all sharp wit and fierce hair, and Harry, who looked less like a fourteen-year-old and more like a demigod who'd bench-pressed puberty until it cried. Tall, broad-shouldered, ripped like he'd fought a basilisk and used it as a gym towel.
James beamed. "Kingsley, meet the twins—Rose and Harry."
"Harry?" Kingsley repeated, staring at the mountain-sized teenager. "As in Harry Potter?"
Harry gave a casual wave. "Hey. Not actually dead. Surprise?"
Kingsley blinked. "But… you were five. There was a gas explosion. Everyone thought—"
"We let them think that," Lily said softly. "Long story. One that doesn't belong in the Prophet."
To Kingsley's credit, he nodded without pressing.
Then Rose, with her Kennedy McMann level of expressive sarcasm, stepped in. "Wait, you're the Kingsley Shacklebolt? The one Dad and Sirius wouldn't shut up about?"
"All lies," Kingsley said, deadpan. "Except the one about stunning a vampire while doing the crossword. That one's true."
"Coolest Auror in the game," Sirius said, tossing him a grin.
Kingsley's eyes landed back on Harry. "You look… older."
"I aged like revenge," Harry said smoothly. "Hot and terrifying."
"Accurate," said Natasha, stepping up beside him in full sultry-shadow-mode. She looked every inch the deadly Avenger in civilian disguise, though no one believed she wasn't packing three knives and a snarky one-liner.
Tonks strolled in next, her hair a cotton-candy swirl of pink and danger. She winked at Kingsley. "Nice to see the 'Shack' is still smoldering."
Jean and Ororo flanked Harry like mythological goddesses in jeans and boots. Jean looked like a flame that had taken human form. Ororo, regal and warm, gave Kingsley a nod that nearly stopped his heart.
"You've got quite the entourage," Kingsley said to Harry, half-impressed, half-bewildered.
"I'm building a harem. Very respectfully," Harry said, not missing a beat. "Equal opportunity eye candy. Everyone here can beat me up. It's how I show affection."
"I call dibs on breaking his kneecaps if he cheats," Tonks added cheerfully.
"I will hex his soul if he so much as glances at another girl," Jean said with a sweet smile that was 100% not sweet.
"I control lightning," Ororo reminded everyone. "Just putting that out there."
Harry beamed. "And people say love is complicated."
Sirius muttered to James, "I think I just saw Kingsley flinch. Kingsley. The man who interrogated Death Eaters with tea and biscuits."
"Can you blame him?" James said. "Harry's got three girlfriends, biceps like tree trunks, and emotional trauma deep enough to drown a kelpie."
"You forgot the jawline sharp enough to cut through enchanted steel," added Lily dryly.
Kingsley rubbed his temples. "Okay. I officially need a drink."
"Start with firewhisky," Ted Tonks suggested, arriving with Andromeda—who looked like she could defeat both fashion week and a werewolf in the same evening.
"You're back," Andromeda said, hugging Lily. "And you didn't tell us?"
"It was sort of a 'surprise, we're alive and Harry's a walking testosterone ad' kind of thing," Lily replied.
Ted was already fist-bumping Harry. "You look like the answer to a personal trainer's dreams and a Death Eater's nightmares."
"I aim to please," Harry said. "And occasionally to disarm. Usually with style."
More people were staring now. Whispers rippled like gossip-fueled tsunamis:
Harry Potter is alive.
Harry Potter has a six-pack.
Harry Potter might be dating Storm.
As Kingsley turned to go, he gave Harry one last look. "You're going to break the world when it finds out you're back."
Harry smirked. "Then I better look good while doing it."
As they moved deeper into the camp, Sirius threw an arm around Harry. "Kid, you're either going to be crowned king or start a global magical panic."
"Why not both?" Rose said, flicking green glitter off her wand. "He is Harry Potter."
And the whispers followed them like sparks in the wind:
He's alive.
He's grown.
He's coming.
And the world had no idea what was about to hit it.
—
If you've never walked toward a magically constructed stadium surrounded by four girlfriends, two parents, a godfather, a sister who doesn't believe in volume control, and a pair of in-laws who clearly think everyone else is insane—you haven't lived. Or you're not Harry Potter. Either way, you're missing out.
The air buzzed with magic and excitement. Banners waved, enchanted flares exploded harmlessly in the sky (except that one time they weren't harmless, R.I.P. Gregory the Unlucky), and crowds moved like a multi-species conga line of chaos.
Harry led the way—or at least, he tried to. It's hard to walk straight when your shoulder is being nudged by a storm goddess floating six inches off the ground. Or when Natasha Romanoff is matching your stride, scanning the crowd like she's ready to take down a Death Eater with a hairpin.
Tonks bounced beside him, hair now emerald green with pulsing golden shamrocks. "I look like a radioactive carrot!" she chirped.
"You look like Ireland had a rave baby with a leprechaun," Harry quipped, not missing a beat. "And I regret everything."
She grinned. "You love it."
"I tolerate it," he said. "Like I tolerate glitter. And taxes."
"Flirt harder, Potter," Jean murmured, gliding beside him with a smirk, her red curls catching the sunlight like her hair was auditioning for a shampoo commercial.
"I will when you stop floating like an extra from Twilight: Hogwarts Edition."
Jean raised an eyebrow. "Says the guy who bench-pressed a troll and didn't even flex."
"That troll had it coming," Harry said, smirking. "He insulted Ororo's cloak."
Ororo, hovering with enough grace to make gravity cry, gave him a small, regal smile. "It was a very disrespectful troll."
Harry shrugged, casually slinging an arm around her waist as they walked. "Good thing I'm petty and violent."
Behind them, Rose marched ahead like she was being paid by the strut. Her long red hair bounced behind her and she wore an Ireland jersey two sizes too big for dramatic flair. "Oi, people! Stadium's this way, not Hogwarts! Keep up!"
Lily sighed and caught her by the collar. "Slow down, Rose. Last time you ran ahead, you got adopted by a group of centaurs."
"I was five!" Rose protested.
"And you tried to rename yourself 'Centaur Queen.'"
James walked behind them, juggling two flags like he was performing in the Sad Dad Olympics. "I can't decide who to cheer for! Krum's a beast, but those Irish Chasers are hot!"
"Your wife's right there," Sirius said, side-eyeing him.
"I'm married, not blind," James defended.
Lily narrowed her eyes. "Careful, James. I know where your wand sleeps."
"Note to self," Sirius muttered. "Never get married."
"Note to self," Andromeda said dryly, "never attend public events with Gryffindors."
Ted grinned at her, nudging her shoulder. "You secretly love it."
"I love you," she said. "The rest of this circus is a tax I pay for that privilege."
As they reached the stadium, it rose into view like a holy monument to sports and bad decisions. The thing was massive. Like, 'could house a kaiju wrestling match' massive. Magic swirled around it in glowing runes and shimmering charms, and it made Harry feel a tiny bit like an ant who had somehow scored a VIP pass.
"You're telling me that's temporary?" Harry asked.
James puffed out his chest. "Built just for the World Cup. Gone by tomorrow morning."
"Like your credibility."
"Oi!"
They made their way past a pair of wizard security guards who were arguing about whether wands counted as "personal support animals." Tonks distracted one with a loud sneeze while Sirius walked right past pretending to be Viktor Krum. It worked, because this family was allergic to normal.
As they stepped into the enchanted escalators, Irish pub music blared from the rails. A bagpipe hit such a screech that Ted clutched his chest and gasped, "It's the sound of my soul dying!"
"Could've sworn that was your stomach," Sirius said.
"Both," Ted wheezed.
Harry barely heard them. Because the second he stepped onto the top deck of the VIP box, the view hit him like a Bludger to the chest.
Below them stretched the pitch—green, perfect, ringed with gold goal hoops and surrounded by a stadium pulsing with energy. The crowd was a living, breathing thing: roaring, glowing, sparkling, tossing hats, banners, and occasionally themselves into the air.
"Whoa," Rose breathed. Even she was stunned into temporary silence.
Jean took Harry's hand, squeezing it gently. "This okay?"
Harry nodded. "Better than okay."
Natasha stood on his other side, her lips brushing against his ear. "You earned this."
He turned toward her, smirking. "I earn a lot of things. Still waiting on my reward kisses."
"After the match," she promised, voice low and dangerous.
Tonks popped up beside them. "Or during. Depends how exciting it gets."
Ororo just raised an eyebrow. "If there's thunder during the kiss, that was me. You're welcome."
The magical loudspeakers flared to life with a boom that rattled everyone's fillings.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WITCHES, WIZARDS, AND ALL MAGICAL BEINGS WHO PAID FOR A TICKET—WELCOME TO THE FOUR-HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SECOND QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP FINAL!"
The stadium exploded with sound.
James immediately started chanting, "POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!"
Sirius groaned. "We're not even playing, Prongs!"
"I DON'T CARE! LET ME LIVE MY BEST LIFE!"
Harry sank into his seat, wrapping an arm around Jean and Ororo while Natasha sat on his lap like she owned the chair. Tonks leaned over from the other side and rested her head on his shoulder.
"You okay?" Tonks asked.
Harry looked out over the roaring crowd, the magical sky, the floating platforms of commentary teams and mascots, and the sweeping arc of color as thousands of fans sang and danced.
"I'm better than okay," he said, grinning like he just stole Christmas.
"I'm home."
And somewhere in the sky above, Viktor Krum burst out of the tunnel like a rocket fueled by Slavic rage and protein shakes, sending the stadium into another frenzy.
Harry leaned back, surrounded by magic, misfits, and mayhem.
Yep.
This was his life.
And honestly?
He wouldn't trade it for anything.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!